RUNS WITH FOOT-HARRIERS 267 



and, with a touch of the horn, away we go at best pace. 

 If you do go to a holloa at all, don't dally, but take 

 your hounds as fast as you like. A foot-huntsman, 

 after all, can never blow his hounds on such an occa- 

 sion. We pick up the line again, and, passing the 

 Master, are cheered with the tidings that the hare is 

 tiring fast. So, indeed, are some of us bipeds ; but 

 we push on, hope as usual springing eternal in the 

 hunting breast. Hounds now carry the line slowly 

 to a little shaw towards East Dean. The hare has 

 certainly gone through, but beyond scent fails again 

 lamentably ; it looks almost as if we were going to 

 be beaten after all. A longish cast round, and we 

 suddenly come upon the hunted animal, which has 

 squatted and now springs away just in front of hounds. 

 From a rather ominous quiet, we suddenly emerge 

 once more into the joyous clamour of hound voices, all 

 mad with the idea of running into their prey. It is 

 very plain, indeed, that the hare is beaten. Her rest 

 has but served to accentuate her stiffness, and her 

 gait now is far different from that wondrous display 

 of speed with which she sailed away from us during 

 the first hour of the hunt. The pack gains on her 

 rapidly. Stormer leads the van ; Champion, Daunt- 

 less, and Abel push him hard. Old Captain, knowing 

 well that the end is near, is straining every nerve and 

 is well up with the leaders. They close up rapidly. 

 In three minutes it is all over. They are close upon 

 her ; she jinks feebly once or twice, and now, upon the 

 smooth down turf, the leaders have pulled her down, 

 and the whole pack are ravening at her. We are 

 quickly up, the huntsman rescues the dead hare from 

 the jaws of the hounds, and then with a blast or two 

 of the horn and piercing who-whoops we proceed to 

 celebrate the obsequies. An hour and forty minutes 



